Dissension
by Unoriginal2
Summary: "How often did the living make the dead's skin crawl?"... Murder House AU; Violet is a ghost in the Murder House and Tate is just a lonely kid trying to figure things out. T for language and violence.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I am not the creator of American Horror Story or any of its characters.**

_Author's note: This is my first published piece of fanfiction so comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated :) _

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Violet was getting bored of her old Nirvana album. She tried, honestly, to enjoy its familiar guitar strums and the soothing roughness of Kurt Cobain's voice, but after having nothing else to listen to for 2 years she felt, with a bit of guilt, that she would rather listen to anything else. It was like this with everything lately, especially the simple things. She was tired of the clothes she was stuck with and the colors of the walls; even the view from her window made her feel trapped. And she **knew **that she was being melodramatic blah blah blah- but she couldn't help it. She missed being able to smell and taste home cooked meals, and having to shower, and slaving over homework. The soft morning wind that blew through her window reminded her that she couldn't feel any difference in temperature. She missed monotonous variety. She missed her life.

It was all very depressing, the whole ~**being dead~** thing. She'd tried talking to Nora about it a few months before, asking how she'd been able to handle living there for so long. Nora's expression had grown bitter and her eyes distant, as if remembering every excruciating second that she'd been trapped in the house, and then turned to Violet, quietly whispering.

"There's nothing to do but handle it." And then she vanished, leaving behind a soft golden mist. Violet had just rolled her eyes and floated back to her bedroom, thinking that she should have known that Nora was too emotional and flakey to give her any real advice. Then she'd flopped onto her bed and reached over to turn on her aging iPod to blast more Nirvana, which everyone in the house was tired of listening to.

Now Violet took up her usual station on the windowsill, staring out into the neighborhood and wishing that the boundaries of her confinement were just a little bit bigger. _God, I'm such a cliché ghost. _She thought sourly._ But I guess they're clichés for a reason: they're true. _She was just about to turn away from the window to grab her favorite book, which she'd read countless times, when a car pulled up in the road in front of the house. This wasn't unusual, many people liked to check out the old "Murder House", but they normally just did the ~slow down to take some pictures then floor it~ thing, but Violet could see this car park and heard the distinct sound of the engine being shut off. Violet raised a suspicious eyebrow.

The car's doors popped open and out stepped a perky real estate agent, a severe looking woman who immediately lit a cigarette, a handicapped girl who tried to stay as close to the woman as possible, and a boy with messy blond hair who really looked like he didn't want to be there. _Oh great, more people to terrorize. _There had only been one family that had moved in since she'd died, a husband and wife and their four irritating kids who were clumsy and loud.

Violet hadn't been a fan of them. The youngest and most annoying one had gotten her room, and all he did was make a mess with his toys and cry when he had to go to bed. They didn't last very long, barely a month and a half before they decided that the house was "too dangerous" and "should be burned to the ground". Not even all of their boxes were unpacked before they decided to pack up and hit the road again.

There was an unspoken rule about anyone who moved into the house, and that was: scare them enough to get them the hell out of there. Sure, sometimes the resident ghosts enjoyed their jobs as real-life (death?) horror characters, especially when the house was full of brats, but it was really in the best interest for anyone _living _in the house. Those who stayed there too long had a tendency to become permanent tenants.

Violet watched as the group of people scooted around the car and the woman with the cigarettes offered one to the boy, who must have been her son. He refused it and shoved his hands deep into his pockets, looking around at the other houses on the street. Violet couldn't help but study him. He and the woman looked pretty similar, both blonde with sharp jawlines and sunken-in eyes, both beautiful. Their similar postures caught Violet's attention, very straight and proud, but somehow different to one another.

The woman stood with her cigarette hanging between gloved fingers, blue heels firmly planted on the cracked sidewalk, looking like she ruled the world and knew it. The boy was less showy, resembling more of a soldier than a ruler, but not lacking the same confidence. The woman flicked her cigarette into the street and said something to the real estate agent that looked along the lines of "If we don't start the tour soon, my next cigarette will be put out on your tongue."

The real estate agent chattered cheerily the whole way up to the porch, pointing out various things in the yard and gesturing broadly at the house, probably trying to make it seem more appealing than it actually was. No one looked interested in her "Oh the possibilities!" bullshit, so Violet thought it would be a good time to find a new place to conduct her investigation on this new family. She got down from her perch on the windowsill and floated down the hall and down the stairs, to the hallway leading from the front door to the kitchen. She sat down in the middle of the hall, her view of the front door straight and unobstructed.

She heard voices through the door before hearing the soft clicks of a lock and key, and it swung open, revealing the family and saleswoman. If from 80 feet away the cigarette woman looked menacing, she was absolutely terrifying this close up. She didn't _look_ scary or abnormal, but her presence was just so… brutal. Unforgiving. Violet would never admit to being afraid of anything, but the smirk that grew on the woman's face as she looked around the hallway just gave her the creeps.

How often did the living make the dead's skin crawl?


	2. Chapter 2

The woman wordlessly handed her finished cigarette to her son before stepping over the threshold and taking off her black sunhat to get a better look around the foyer. The boy rubbed the end of the cigarette on the porch railing to make sure it was put out then tossed it into the grass a few feet away from the house before entering.

Once the rest of them shuffled in around the woman the real estate agent closed the door and turned back to the family, a resilient smile still on her face. The two children were looking at her expectantly while their mother's eyes still roamed, catching every now and then on a light fixture or decoration. Violet felt uneasy every time her scrutinizing gaze passed over her.

"Now Ms. Langdon I believe this beautiful house would make the perfect home for-" The real estate agent's tone was exaggerated with joy.

"Yes Marcy, thank you," The woman, who must have been Ms. Langdon, cut short whatever Marcy was going to say. Her voice was mature and raspy, with a neutral southern accent. Violet shivered. "If I wanted to listen to some tritely obnoxious sales pitch," Ms. Langdon finally made eye contact with the other woman, a small condescending smile on her face. "Then I'd watch television."

Marcy was barely fazed, waving her hand in a relaxed matter to show that it was not a problem and that- of course that Ms. Langdon was right.

Violet realized bitterly that it was the same woman who had sold this house to her own family a few years ago. _You'd think that this lady would care that she's leading all of these people to their deaths- but "whatever pays the bills" right? _She couldn't help but feel angry and disgusted.

"Then I'll let the house do the talking," Marcy said with an overly cheery smile. "Right this way…" and she lead the woman and the girl toward where Violet was sitting, on their way to the kitchen. Violet hastily got up and pressed herself against the wall so that they wouldn't walk through her, which was fairly unpleasant even as a ghost.

She noticed, with a chill, that the handicapped girl was looking directly at her. She remembered something about young people and people with disabilities being able to pick up on supernatural energy more easily than others, but for god's sake she never thought that that was _real. _It never occurred to her, even as a ghost, that other things about the supernatural could be true; after all, none of the last inhabitants could see any of them.

The girl kept staring at her as she walked, not really making eye contact, but focusing somewhere directly under Violet's jaw. Violet remained frozen against the wall, holding her breath until the girl passed, a bit too close for comfort, and finally turned her gaze away. Violet breathed a sigh of relief and made a mental note to avoid her- she wasn't used to being seen by anyone and it made her feel exposed and uncomfortable.

As she wrapped her cardigan more tightly around herself, she noticed that the boy had hung back, caught up in looking at the wallpaper and surrounding décor. Occasionally he'd flick a part of the doorframe where it was splintering, or gently stomp on a creaky floorboard, just examining things. Violet paused to watch him curiously, wondering what he was thinking.

_I gotta know what the deal is with him and his mom- their relationship seems weird as hell. _She thought about her offering her teenage son a cigarette. _I'm gonna say that that's something normal parents don't really do. _Her handing her finished cigarette to the boy- him putting it out like it was routine._ But it's not really my business… _Both kids following silently behind their mother, as if awaiting orders. _Unfortunately._

She stepped cautiously a few feet further down the hall towards him as he poked an old bench cushion by the door. _He seems to be a bit… odd in general. _He tested a light switch to see if it worked, turning it on and off rapidly. The light bulb flickered out with a popping sound and he jumped a bit, surprised at the loud noise. Violet couldn't help but enjoy his expression as he cautiously reached for the switch again, to make sure it was broken. _Maybe it's a good kind of odd. _


	3. Chapter 3

There was a large part of her that hoped that the family would buy the house and that she'd get to watch the boy and the rest of them more, but another part knew that it was a selfish thing to wish. Bad things happened in this house. It was weird and stupid, but she felt unusually protective of the boy even if she didn't know him at all. She just couldn't bear the thought of anything happening to him.

She remembered when _she _had first seen the house, back when she was a vapid, unimpressionable, living teen. At the time she didn't want to be looking at some big house that her parents thought would make everything better, or for her parents to even try to keep the family together. She didn't want her mom to be pregnant. There was so much going on at the time and everything was so wrong. Violet had thought that this move and everything they did was bullshit, and that no stupid house would fix anything.

But then when they took the tour of the house, there was something about it that really drew her in. She loved how oddly everything was adorned, and all the warm wood, and the creepy basement that everyone else hated. She'd even thought it was cool that people had died there, sickly enough. She had thought for a second that maybe this house would be good for her, that maybe she'd be able to forgive her parents for being shitty and maybe things would work out. Now she wished that she hadn't been so hopeful.

_They can't buy the house. _She sighed to herself, feeling notably virtuous as she approached the ancient foyer table by the front door. There was a pen and some papers sitting on it, along with a desk lamp and a decorative plant. She casually leaned against the wall next to the table and looked around, as if someone might catch her being mischievous. She looked back at the boy, who was now playing with the old lamp.

_Whew I don't know if it's just because I haven't seen a boy my age in like, a long time, or what, but he is really gorgeous. _Up close she could see all of his enviable blond curls and admire his chiseled jaw, his straight nose, dark eyes. She was almost jealous of how attractive he was. _I better get some brownie points or something for kicking the hottest person I've ever seen out of my house. _She reached out and poked the pen a bit, to see if he'd notice the movement. He was losing interest in the front room, and looked about ready to turn around to join his family in the kitchen, so Violet took that as her cue to sweep the pen off the table. It bounced off the floor heavily and pretty much sounded like the loudest thing in the world.

The boy swiveled back to face the pen, mildly startled. He quickly looked around like he expected someone to come out from around the corner and be like _H__aha man I got you- did you see your face? _or something, but no such luck. He rolled his shoulders and tilted his head from side to side like he was stretching, before going over to pick up the pen and set it firmly back on the table. He backed away from it with his hands up as if to say "stay".

He put his hands down just as Violet pulled the chain on the desk lamp, illuminating the dusty room with its faint light. The boy stumbled backward, looking disbelievingly at the lamp. Violet yanked the chain again and the light shut off, causing him jerk back, even more surprised.

"You've gotta be shitting me," He whispered to himself, a mixture of irritation and fear. "Of course we have to get the house from The Shining." He approached the lamp, testing the chain to see if he could somehow find an explanation. _Sorry kid, I'm trying to save your life here._ Violet looked over the boy's head and could see Chad leaning against the wall opposite them, a thoughtful look on his face.

"I think he's kinda cute." He said casually, shrugging his shoulders. They watched the boy as he straightened up and tried to look composed before walking quickly down the hall to the kitchen, where the rest of the group were standing with the back door open, inspecting the back yard.

"Sucks for you that he can't stay," Violet flashed him a snarky smile. "Isn't that right?" Her relationship with Chad mostly consisted of snide bantering and occasionally listening to him complain about his boyfriend. His casual attitude always hid loads of tension.

"Oh I'm sure we'll have time to have a bit of fun with him," He raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms. "They're definitely going to buy it- I mean our taste in wallpaper is superb," Violet raised an eyebrow and looked around at green floral print. "After that we'll just have to see how much of a backbone that dreadful bitch actually has."

Violet's eyes followed the boy down the hallway, getting distracted by the width of his shoulders and how the sleeves on his sweater fell to the middle of his hands. Violet hadn't noticed the sweater before, and she made a pained expression. It was the middle of summer and nearly 90 degrees out; she knew what long sleeves at this time of year meant. _Another teen tragedy. _

"You really think they'll buy it?" She could hear her voice crack with concern and damned herself for being such a starry-eyed moron. He smirked at her.

"Looks like Little Miss Unpleasant has a crush," His arms unfolded and his hands clasped behind his back as he approached her, still smirking. "Sucks for you that he can't stay though, right?"

"Oh haha you're so funny," She smiled sarcastically before rolling her eyes and starting down the hallway- she obviously wasn't going to get anywhere with scaring them out. "Now if you excuse me, 'Little Miss Unpleasant' will be up in her room listening to depressing music and thinking about how terrible her existence is." She turned the corner into the room with the staircase.

"I can't tell if you're joking or not."

Violet just rolled her eyes and kept walking.


	4. Chapter 4

**Trigger Warning: scars/cutting/abuse**

AN: _I really appreciate any feedback, so thank you to everybody who has commented :) You're all wonderful!_

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About a week after the family left, they returned- this time with moving trucks. Violet couldn't help but feel a rush of excitement when she saw the first car park outside and Ms. Langdon step out, holding a set of old keys that matched the locks to the house.

_So they bought it. _Violet thought to herself resolutely. _Time for the shit to hit the fan._

For a few days there was nothing but chaos in the house. Violet often stayed in the attic or the basement to get away from all the noise on the main floors, as she wasn't used to so many living people being around and it tired her out. Whenever she did happen to be on a main floor, she tended to follow around the new family and watch what they were doing.

Ms. Langdon always seemed to have a glass of wine in her hand as she directed the movers with every piece of furniture throughout the entire house, only occasionally setting the glass down to light a cigarette. Violet never saw her without a pair of heels and perfectly styled outfits and hair. She wondered where the woman got the time to get so dolled up.

Adelaide, which was the name of the handicapped girl, Violet found out, mostly stayed in the kitchen or dining room crudely coloring in pictures of princesses. She was occasionally visited by her brother, _Tate,_ who would come and quietly compliment the colorings. She would look up at him smugly, like she knew the pictures were works of art, and sometimes offered one or two to him. He always accepted them awkwardly, but with obvious appreciation.

When Tate wasn't with Adelaide he was helping move, following his mother's orders like he was one of the workers. He literally looked like he was dying as he labored through the heat in his navy blue pullover and jeans, curls plastered to the sides of his face from sweat. He was constantly an unhealthy shade of red.

_I think the heat will kill him before the house gets a chance to._ Violet thought, a bit concerned as she watched them drag a couch across the lawn. _Tate… That's a good name. _

All of the boy's things were moved into her room, which she had expected but was still a bit irritated by. Sure, she could move to another room or something, but she loved that room- hell, she'd _died _in that room. She didn't want to give it up to anybody, no matter how cute.

But she couldn't really do anything about it, so she watched miserably from her windowsill as everything was placed. There wasn't a whole lot of furniture, just a bed, a bookcase, and a matching dresser and nightstand that all had to be set up. They unpacked large boxes of clothing, random personal items, and a shit ton of books, setting everything up as Ms. Langdon wanted.

At the end of each day after the moving crew left, Ms. Langdon would prepare some traditional meal and the family would sit stonily around the dining room table, eating quietly. There was hardly ever any conversation except every now and then when Ms. Langdon would make comments about the house; mostly "We should really do something about that god-awful wallpaper." And she'd sip her wine, seeming to not really expect any response. Tate would just stare down at his meal, taking very small bites and ignoring his mother.

Violet didn't understand the relationship between the family. All of their interactions, besides when the mother was ordering the children around, seemed forced and discordant, unnatural. Tate hardly ever spoke when his mother was around, but even with just his sister he seemed stiff and awkward, although it was obvious that he preferred her company over the woman's.

There was always suppressed tension at the dinner table, and it was the part of the day that Violet dreaded the most. Still, she couldn't seem to stay away. 

Some of the other ghosts had begun trying to scare the new people out, but it was mostly Moira, the one person who actually liked people living in the house, who really got anywhere. The Sunday after all of the movers were officially gone, Moira was up and in the kitchen making breakfast before anyone was awake. Ms. Langdon had come down the stairs cautiously, suspicious of the noise, and nearly screamed when she saw the woman.

But apparently Moira reassured her that she was the maid and that she was there to help out with things for a pay, and went on her whole spiel about coming with the house blah blah blah. Ms. Langdon apparently didn't seem too bothered by the fact that the woman had broken into her house because she hired her almost immediately. _You'd think that someone so glamorous would be more concerned with a sketchy maid. _Violet thought that it was weird, but hey, at least Moira was doing something.

The Monday after that, Ms. Langdon woke up earlier than usual. Violet watched her as she got ready, pulling curlers out of her hair and meticulously brushing on an elegant face of make-up. The woman had set the outfit she was going to wear out the night before, a black professional-looking dress, and she slipped it on gracefully. Violet had turned away when she had undressed, not that nudity bothered her or anything, just because she felt like she was encroaching on the woman's privacy.

_That sounds so stupid- I've been literally watching every move these people make and now nudity is crossing the line. _Violet thought that it was kind of funny. _Hey, I'm a ghost; I think that I have the right to test the boundaries of privacy._

Eventually Ms. Langdon left, but not before Violet saw her pour a few drops of some sort of liquor into her large mug of coffee. This was also amusing to Violet. _So she's one of those drunk business moms. No wonder her kids avoid her._ After she left, the house felt quiet and empty, and Moira wouldn't "arrive" until around noon. 

School didn't start for another couple weeks so the teenagers probably wouldn't be waking up for a few more hours. Violet quietly climbed up to the second floor and went to Adelaide's room, which was the room that was going to be a nursery when Violet's family had moved in. She looked at the girl sleeping soundly in her bed and imagined a toddler sleeping similarly in a crib, curled up on its side. Had there not been the cheating and the miscarriage and the dying, things might have turned out alright. _So basically if we lived in a perfect world, things would be perfect. Glad I could figure that out. _

The room never became a nursery, but the light green walls still seemed childlike and innocent. She thought it fit Addy. She left the door cracked as she turned back into the hall to head to her room. _My old room _she corrected herself, a bit irritated. She had relocated into the attic, which wasn't too bad except that it was storage for the random shit that didn't fit anywhere else. _How proper._ She would have stayed down in the basement, but the air down there was always slightly oppressive and Violet felt that it probably wouldn't be a good place for her to spend any extended period of time.

She felt weird having to sneak into the room that she used to spend all of her time in, but at the same time she found it exciting. Her heart started to beat faster as she reached for the door handle and felt butterflies in her stomach as she turned it. She thought that if she were alive she'd be sweating bullets. The door swung open and she felt as nervous as ever, even if she knew that Tate would have no knowledge of her being there. The blinds on one side of the room were partially open, letting in the soft glow of the 6:00 AM morning light and making Violet feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

She could see the boy sleeping from where she stood, his arms sprawled across the bed and blond curls obviously disheveled. He was shirtless and as Violet approached the side of the bed she couldn't help but admire how good he looked in this light. He wasn't too skinny or too muscular, and his skin was naturally smooth and pale but the lighting made him seem more tan. Violet thought he looked almost angelic.

But then she looked a bit closer and saw that his smooth skin was covered with a countless number of scars. All up his arms and around his hips and ribs were covered with thin marks in various colors and stages of healing that were all too familiar to Violet.

"Another teen tragedy." She whispered to herself knowingly, reaching out to run her hands along the small bumps. But then she noticed other scars; small circular indentations that were mostly on the upper arm. _No… _She moved her face closer, trying to get a better look at the healed cigarette burns. Violet had taken a forensics class her freshman year and learned that multiple cigarette burns were almost always caused by an abusive adult. All of Violet's sadness was replaced with anger, stronger than she'd ever felt before- she could kill someone, rip them apart limb by limb, burn what's left of them.

But then the boy shifted, going from on his back to curled up on his side, his arm moving up and covering his face. Violet moved away, trying to get her anger under control. _We shouldn't jump to conclusions, _She told herself, _who knows what those are from, right? _She anxiously pulled at her sleeves and scratched her head. _Right? _


End file.
